


Bolt Hole

by redonpointe



Series: Human Error [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 18:03:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3778291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redonpointe/pseuds/redonpointe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly Hooper's flat serves as a safe haven after Sherlock's literal and proverbial fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Time

**11: 05 p.m.**

"I need a place to stay." Sherlock announced the minute Molly shut the door behind him. He removed his coat and threw it on her couch before turning to look at her, an expectant look on his face. "I hope that's alright. We talked about it before, but I thought I should ask anyway in case anything has changed." He paused waiting for her reply. When she just stared at him, he pressed on. "Has anything changed?"

"No, no, it's fine." Molly nodded quickly, pulling her housecoat closed and tying the sash around her waist. "I'll just, um, I'll just show you the guest bedroom it's right through-"

"I'll take your bedroom." Sherlock interrupted, following her with his eyes as she made her way into the hall. She stopped and turned around, fidgeting with her hair. It'd been a long time since the last time he'd seen her. Since the day after he'd jumped off the roof at St. Bart's, actually, and the sight of her familiar face framed by a long mass of sleep rumpled hair made his heart ache. Already a year had gone by, and this woman was a reminder of a life he'd left on indefinite hold.

An  _unexpected_ reminder, he clarified, as he found himself struggling to keep his emotions under control

"Oh, well it's-" She frowned, her cheeks coloring slightly.

"The state of it doesn't matter, I'm just here for one night." He interrupted before she could explain the mess that likely littered her bedroom.

"Okay." She nodded, changing direction and moving further down the hallway. "It's right through here." She pushed the door open and Sherlock stepped inside, removing his tattered green jacket and placing it on the bed.

"Do you need anything else?" She followed him inside and removed her phone from its charger.

"No." He said after some hesitation. He could probably use a bit of company, but that was more than he would admit to.

They stared at each other. He could feel Molly's eyes on him and he did his best not to turn away. How long had it been since someone had looked at him that way? Well, if he was being honest, no one ever looked at him the way Molly did, but that's not what he'd meant. How long had it been since someone had looked at him with anything other than open hostility? He cleared his throat.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, it's, um," she shook her head, her eyes still on his face but her thoughts seemed to be elsewhere, "it's just that it's been so long."

Sherlock nodded and took the opportunity to commit her face to memory, just as she was at that moment. Her eyes alert, even if her entire body betrayed how tired she was. Her shiny hair tangled from tossing and turning in the same bed he was about to occupy. Her lips slightly parted as she tried to read him. As exhausted as he was, it wouldn't surprise him if she could see right through him.

"Oh!" Molly snapped herself out her thoughts, her cheeks going pink as she realized what she'd been doing. It hadn't bothered him, if anything he'd welcomed it, but he didn't say anything to ease her discomfort. He needed his rest and he'd be gone in the morning. There was no point. "Sorry, I didn't mean to stare."

"Right, well, goodnight Molly." He cleared his throat again and stared her down. She blushed a deeper shade of pink before moving towards the door.

"Goodnight." She mumbled, pulling the door behind her. She stopped just before it was completely closed and poked her head back into the room. "If you need anything, you know where to find me."

Sherlock nodded once but didn't reply. He waited until her steps faded into the guest room before he stripped down to his boxers and slid into her bed.

* * *

**2:45 a.m.**

If you'd asked her, Molly couldn't explain why exactly she'd left the door open that night. All she'd really known was that it needed to stay open. Maybe it was something she'd seen in his face when he'd stepped into her apartment that night, or maybe it was the way he'd looked at her while she'd stared at him for an embarrassingly long minute in her bedroom. Whatever it was, Molly knew, almost instinctively, not to ignore it.

It was likely that same instinct that startled her out of a dead sleep at nearly three in the morning. The noise had been almost imperceptible, but she'd heard it. She didn't even bother with checking the time as she slipped out of the bed in the guest bedroom and walked back to her own room, pausing just outside to knock on her door.

"Sherlock?" She called out, leaning slightly forward, head cocked towards the door to see if there was any answer. When all she heard was a strangled groan in reply, she swallowed and turned the knob.

"Are you alright?" She asked softly as she stepped inside, her eyes immediately landing on his sleeping form. He was in bed, eyes pinched closed, the sheet almost completely pushed off of his body. He clutched her pillow with white knuckled fists.

_Nightmares_ , she thought grimly as she moved forward and sat at the edge of her bed. Tentatively, she reached out a hand and cupped his face. "Sherlock, wake up." She half whispered, half spoke. "It's just a bad dream."

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he immediately sat up, shifting away from her and searching for something under the pillow.

"It's just me. Molly." She said quickly, staying where she was. "You were having a bad dream."

"Molly?" Sherlock replied raggedly. He was panting and his eyes darted all over the room before settling on her face.

"I'm here." Molly replied quietly, still not daring to move. When Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back against the headboard, Molly felt herself relax as well. "You were having a bad dream, I thought maybe-"

"What time is it?" He cut her off and Molly checked the alarm clock on her bedside table.

"It's almost three in the morning." She told him, shifting her eyes back to his face.

"You have to work tomorrow." He stated, his breathing slowing down as he got himself under control. "The early shift."

"Yes, but don't worry about that. It's not the first time I-"

"Can you stay?" He opened his eyes and pinned her with a blue eyed stare. She swallowed.

"I'm sorry?" Her eyebrows pulled into a frown.

"Tonight." He explained, his eyes pleading with her to understand. "Can you stay here with me?"

Molly felt her mouth hang slightly open before she nodded and he shifted away from her, making room for her to lie down. Sherlock waited until she was settled under the covers before sliding back down into the bed beside her and closing his eyes. Molly looked at his profile in the dim light coming from her window. It was the last thing she saw before her eyes drooped closed and she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

**5: 55 a.m.**

Sherlock was wide awake and well aware that he was clutching Molly to his chest like a bloody lifeline. He still had five minutes before he had to get up and make the necessary preparations for his departure. With a heavy sigh, he buried his face in her hair.

_Just five more minutes._  He thought, clutching her tighter when she murmured sleepily and settled comfortably against him.  _Five more minutes, and I leave._

This time, he memorized the way Molly felt in his arms. The  _look_ of her as she had studied him when he'd arrived would likely get him through most days when everything else seemed cold and steely and threatened to cut him open. The  _feel_  of her though, would get him through the desperately lonely nights when there was nothing to turn to for comfort except maybe his now ever-present gun.

Yes. Sherlock Holmes, with all his thrills and kills, was lonely. And never was that loneliness more evident than since the time he'd had to leave the comforts of home, and if he was being honest with himself, friendship, behind.

_Four minutes left._  He inhaled sharply, filing away the faint vanilla smell of her hair, so unbelievably soft against his face. He burrowed deeper.  _Who knew vanilla could be such a comforting smell?_

_Three minutes left._  His fingers brushed against the slice of skin left exposed by her rucked up t-shirt. He hadn't bothered thinking about it before. Quite frankly, he'd ignored it, deeming it useless information, but now he reconsidered. He swallowed, feeling like this one was almost too intimate to know, but once he'd filed it away he could only be rid of that information by deleting it and that was something he couldn't bring himself to do.  _Didn't think it'd be this soft. Interesting._

_Two minutes left._ Sherlock was startled when Molly turned around in his arms and buried her face against his neck.  _This is a new one_ , he thought as he tentatively slipped his arm around her again and pulled her against him. He could feel her warm breath against his neck and he frowned as he cupped the back of her head with his hand. Sherlock swallowed. He'd look into this one another time, maybe somewhere in the near future when he welcomed the distraction and wasn't scrambling to commit it to memory.

_One minute left._  Sherlock sighed, sliding his hand down her back and readying himself to disentangle his limbs from hers. He slipped his hand up into her hair and slid the strands against his fingers.

_Time to go_. His face hardened as he pulled away from her and his body tensed as he shifted gears. It was time to get back to work.

* * *

**6: 10 a.m.**

"You don't have to be up for another twenty minutes." Sherlock said quietly when he stepped out of Molly's bathroom and found her waiting.

"I've been awake for a while." She confessed, sitting up slightly and giving him a small smile. "I wanted to see you before you left."

Sherlock looked down at the towel in his hands before discarding it next to hers. "How long exactly?"

"Long enough." Molly replied, her cheeks coloring visibly.

"I have to go." He replied, pulling on his t-shirt. He didn't meet her eyes as he slipped on his socks and trainers, or when he picked up his jacket and shrugged it on. He only paused and turned around when he was nearly out of her bedroom. It was strange, the way he suddenly felt so exposed like he'd bared his soul to her. But this was  _Molly_. If there was ever anyone he could bare his soul to aside from John it was her.

"You don't have to say anything." Molly said, and he found himself smiling a faint smile. Was he that easy to read or was it just her? He walked back to the bed and sat on the edge, taking a minute before he could meet her eyes.

"Thank you, Molly Hooper." He said earnestly, his eyes conveying more than he cared to know about the depth of his gratitude. "You've given me more than I deserve."

Molly gaped at him for the second time that night, but now he was out of time. Leaning forward, he brushed his lips against her cheek before bolting from the room.

 


	2. Six Months Later

**11: 27 p.m.**

There hadn't been any butterflies for Molly. She could at least be honest about that. He was just a nice man. Alright, a  _very_  nice man who seemed to like her just as she was. Not exactly the cleverest man she'd met, but-

She stopped in front of the door to her flat and closed her eyes.

"I  _will not_  compare this man to Sherlock Holmes." She muttered to herself for what felt like the hundredth time that night. It was time to move on. Get on with her life. Do whatever it was people did when they weren't hopelessly in love with an impossibly brilliant man who cared nothing for his heart.

Slipping the key into the lock, Molly pushed the door open and bit back a scream.

"It's just me." Sherlock. She'd know that silky baritone voice anywhere.

"You scared me." She said, heaving a sigh of relief and closing the door behind her. "Why are you sitting in the dark?"

"I have a headache." He replied, a slight strain to his voice. Barely noticeable. "The light was annoying."

"Do you want me to get you something for it?" She asked quietly, shrugging off her coat and moving into the kitchen.

There was no reply, but Molly searched for the bottle of aspirin she always kept nearby and poured a glass of water for him. It had been like this for months. She never knew when he'd turn up, but he always did. Sometimes three times in one week. This time it had been a month and a half. She'd been almost convinced he wouldn't be coming back at all, but here he was.

"You were on a date." Molly jumped when she heard his voice, spilling some of the water on her brand new dress.

Her lips turned down in a grimace and she turned to look at him. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, unwavering blue gaze fixed on her. Her breath hitched.

"Yes." She said finally, turning away to find something to dry herself with. "I was."

"You seem different." He said after a long pause. Molly didn't know how to respond to that.

"Different?" She asked, her brows knitting into a frown.

"Hm." Was all he replied as he began walking towards her. Molly's eyes widened but she didn't move. He stepped up close to her and leaned in, arms reaching around her back.

"W-what are you doing?" Her voice was shaky and uneven. Sherlock smirked, the barest hint of  _something_ in his eyes before he pulled back holding the bottle of aspiring and the glass of water.

Her heart had been racing a mile a minute before she realized what he'd been doing. No, he wouldn't kiss her. He was just getting his bloody aspirin. She closed her eyes, mentally berating herself for her complete lack of self-control.

"Goodnight, Molly." She opened her eyes and glared at him as he left her kitchen.

* * *

**2:01 a.m.**

Sherlock couldn't sleep.

He'd tossed and turned in Molly's bed for the longest time, but he couldn't get comfortable. He'd tried retreating into his mind palace, but everything appeared to be in working order. The last few months had been hectic, and God help him, even exciting, but now he'd hit a dead end.

An inevitable lull in his otherwise fast-paced adventure.

It didn't bother him, really. He was actually enjoying having a few more hours to himself. To recuperate and recharge, or as much as anyone could recuperate and recharge in similar situations.

And then there was Molly.

For the last six months her flat had been a sort of safe haven. The one bolthole Mycroft knew nothing about, and therefore, the only place he could truly hide whenever needed.

But it was more than that, wasn't it?

Sherlock did not lie to himself as a rule. Not for anything. It was one of the reasons he was so good at what he did. He recognized and accepted everything about himself, and in so doing, he overcame his weaknesses.

Yes, weaknesses. As much as it bothered him to admit it, Sherlock had his fair share, and it was becoming increasingly obvious, at least to him, that Molly was fast becoming one of them.

Not in the same way most men would consider themselves weakened by a woman, it certainly wasn't lust, or the like. It was something else. Something far more dangerous, if he was being completely honest with himself.

She was confusing him. Muddying in the waters until he was swimming blind, relying more on his sense than on his skill. Sometimes he hated her for it.

Out of the 12 - no 14 - times he'd stayed here, it was 14 times she'd slept in the same bed with him. It was the nightmares, obviously, but every single time, he'd pulled her into his arms and held on to her until he'd had to leave. Every time memorizing and re-committing her to his memory.

Not tonight, though.

Tonight, she'd been out on a date and now he couldn't sleep. No sleep meant no nightmares and consequently, no Molly.

With a frustrated curse, Sherlock threw the covers off himself and sat up, searching for his phone.

* * *

**2:45 a.m.**

_**Are you awake? I'm bored.** _

_**SH** _

_It's nearly three in the morning._

_M_

_**I am aware of the time, but I fail to see how that has anything to do with the fact that I'm bored.** _

_**SH** _

_Did you have another nightmare?_

_M_

_**Of course not, I haven't slept. Neither have you.** _

_**SH** _

_Why do you say that?_

_M_

_**Proper punctuation.** _

_**SH** _

_What about it? It's there._

_M_

_**Exactly. Except when you've just woken up, then it's missing.** _

_**SH** _

_Go to sleep Sherlock._

_M_

_**You're smiling.** _

_**SH** _

_So are you._

_M_

* * *

**4:00 a.m.**

Sherlock realized he'd fallen asleep only after he'd woken up in a cold sweat, panting like he'd been running from Death itself. He took deep breaths, keeping his eyes closed as he pushed the nightmares deep into his mind palace and locked them up behind heavy steel doors.

It was a few minutes before he was under control. Fewer still before he realized that Molly was there, kneeling on the bed beside him, combing her fingers through his hair and murmuring something about 'everything being alright'.

He suppressed the urge to scoff at her. Nothing would be alright until he was done, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy her false comfort, if only for a brief moment.

"You're going out with him again." Sherlock stated, locking his eyes with hers'.

"What?" Molly asked, her hands pausing while still tangled in his hair.

"Your date." Sherlock explained, searching her face for the same thing he'd seen in the kitchen when he'd approached her.

"Oh." Molly replied quietly, removing her hands from his hair and sitting back on her haunches. "I-I don't know, it was only a first date. He asked, so-"

"He doesn't deserve you." Sherlock cut her off, surprised by his own statement as much as Molly. But he was right, wasn't he?

"You haven't even met him." Molly countered, a smile tugging at her lips. It was a testament to his pathetic state of being that he found that veiled smile the most endearing thing about her, second only to her mussed up hair.

"I don't need to." He said simply, finally tearing his eyes away from hers'. "Your taste in men leaves a lot to be desired."

He gave her a sidelong glance, noticing her blushing cheeks and averted eyes. There it was. Exactly what he'd been looking for.  _Why_  he'd been looking for it was a mystery, even to him, but he  _had_  been looking for it.

"I should go." Molly started to move off the bed, but for once, Sherlock's hand was quicker than his thoughts and he caught her by the wrist.

"Stay." His voice was quiet, but even he could recognize what was just under the surface. It was pure, unadulterated longing. For what, he didn't know, but he was full of it now, like he'd been full of it every single night he'd spent with her these last months. "Just this once."

Molly studied him, and he found himself suspended, anticipation coursing through him while he waited for her to deliberate. Would she stay, or would she leave? Sherlock knew there was an imminent change in the air, like they were standing on a precipice, teetering over the edge.

There was too much he didn't understand, but none of that mattered to him now.

Molly sighed, the color rising up in her cheeks again.

"Alright." She said finally, her eyes locking with his, bolder than he'd ever seen them before. "Just this once."

He smirked, and pulled her down to press his lips to hers.

* * *

**6:10 a.m.**

Molly woke up and immediately sat up in bed, bringing the sheet along with her. She looked at his side of the bed and then towards the bathroom. Not a sign of him anywhere.

Wrapping the sheet around her like a dress, Molly left the bed and made her way into the living room, followed by the kitchen.

He was gone.

Molly fought a wave of disappointment as she walked further into the kitchen to make her morning tea. She paused and blinked when she realized someone had already made it for her. No, not just someone. Sherlock.

She poured herself a cup and went to find her phone, hesitating once it was in her hand. What could she say? She stared at the device for a minute longer before she heard noises coming from her living room, and soon enough down the hall.

Sherlock paused at the entrance to her bedroom, his eyes taking her in, wrapped in her sheet and phone in hand.

"You honestly thought I'd just leave after last night?" He was frowning. He'd obviously hit the nail on the head, but he didn't seem all too pleased by his deduction.

"I-I don't know." Molly stammered, setting down her phone. "We did say it would be just that one time, and I'm not exactly sure what the protocol is in these situations, you know, I've never been the kind to-"

"Molly." Sherlock said slowly, raising his eyebrows as if he were talking to someone about to lose their mind. "Breathe."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them back up. He'd come closer to her and she had to tilt her head back to look at him.

"You know me." He said finally, his voice calm and steady. "You know what I am. You know how I work." Molly nodded, biting her lip to keep some semblance of control.

"I know." Molly agreed, and Sherlock half smiled at her, brushing a stray hair away from her face. "I need to move on."

"And so you will." He replied seriously. "If there is one thing I've come to learn from my time with you, it's that you deserve to be happy, Molly Hooper."

Molly searched his face, wishing, not for the first time, that she knew what he was thinking. Without another word, she closed the gap between them and wrapped her arms around him. Sighing with relief when he returned the gesture, gently cupping her head against his chest.

It wasn't over, but it was enough to hold on to. For now.


End file.
